Rebuilding from the Foundations
by BumbleLellie
Summary: Bruce Banner is lost. He's forgotten what it is to live until he finds Natasha on the roof one day. He begins to see himself in her, and when she's taken from him, it becomes a personal matter. Can the Avengers save Natasha Romanoff from herself, and can Bruce be saved somewhere along the way. Set somewhere before AoU.
1. Chapter 1

**Rebuilding From the Foundations**

 **So it's been a while since I've written anything aside from essays, let alone anything substantial. But I'd like to. I've been on a bit of a marvel streak- and having read a lot of really interesting and funny and compelling fanfictions I want to put my two-cents in. black widow an d hulk both really interest me as characters and there's so many character points I want to play with that I already know I have to let at least half go to make anything cohesive happen. I hope that it does. And I hope it's not too terrible.**

''You're the Black Widow.'' His voice was strong, though his breathing was erratic, teeth clenched. Blood pooled from Bruce Banner's shoulder and it was taking every single ounce of control he had to keep himself human right now.

''I know that.'' Her voice was confident, deep and even.

He looked across at her, waiting for it to mean something. Her gun remained calmly in her grip, her other hand twirling the knife she had got his shoulder with. She was calm, flawlessly so. Just as she had been trained. Bruce couldn't stand looking into the blank expression, the total obliviousness she was showing. It cut worse than the knife.

The concrete room seemed too expansive. It was cold and damp- just the two of them facing one another. A standoff. Deep breaths continued to go through his grit teeth, in his head he grasped at numbers trying to form some soothing pattern to keep himself calm. She was stood expectantly, waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to kill him. But first she had to understand why they sent a man with no obvious training to the likes of her. It was insulting really.

''I'm the Black Widow.'' She reminded him, as much as she did herself. Why wasn't he trying to attack? Why wasn't he trying to escape?

''I know that.'' He echoed her own words, sadness falling over him. He heard the buzz of continual chatter on his communication system, but he didn't care what anyone saying to him. He needed her back.

''Why aren't you running?'' Her voice was harsher, insulted, almost, at his pitiful appearance. Green eyes narrowed and cold. He didn't remember her ever giving him that look.

''I'm not in any danger.'' He chose his words carefully, he really didn't want this to end the way it inevitably was going to.

''Want to bet?'' Her eyebrow quirked a little and for a moment he could almost see Natasha behind the Widow.

''Look, 'Tasha, I don't want to hurt you-'' he forced himself to look into her eyes, pleading with her. She merely laughed as he stood up, wavering slightly. He took a step toward her, her stance immediately shifted ready for him. As he ran, the Hulk ripped free. She wasn't ready for that.

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Outside snow was finally falling in New York. Inside the Avengers Tower the heating was on frustratingly high, something to do with Tony's inability to deal with not being able to walk around in a t-hirt year round. They had long since argued about the environmental impact and been shot down with the eco-model tony had made to have his way. The uncomfortable stuffy air only fed into the disturbed sleep of a certain green scientist.

Bruce woke up from another nightmare. He heard his own grunting breaths, his skin stretching. His brain short wired; trying desperately to count and breathe. The colours flashed behind his eye lids, blurred and confused it was just all green. All his nightmares were green.

They were happening more and more often; his sleep was decreasing and his nerves were barely never flaring at him. Every night since New York the dreams got worse. He wondered what it would be like to sleep normally, to not be plagued by the truth of knowing you _are_ your own greatest fear. His hands were over his face, Bruce hadn't even noticed that his eyes were wet. He was just so tired.

His feet found the floor of their own accord. He pulled a t-shirt over himself, feeling it stick immediately to the sweat, ignoring it to push his slippers on. He looked back at the bed, dishevelled and waiting- but he couldn't find any peace there.

For a while he merely wandered quietly, looking for something to do. The machines in the lab were whirring, meaning one Mr Stark was still awake. Bruce looked longingly at the door thinking about going in and either helping with whatever project Tony was working on. He stared at the door some more, hearing tony sing the chorus to whichever rock song he was playing. Bruce turned away; he didn't want to break the air with his sweaty, sad existence.

Next he stood in front of the fridge, opening and closing it hopelessly. He wasn't actually hungry but the cold waft felt so good. The Hulk was still in the foreground of his mind, guilt lingering behind that.

He found himself on the roof. He couldn't think of where else he could go. The cold air stung, but it made him feel awake. The winter air was relentless, and bitterly, he thought, that's exactly what he needed. Sleep was an enemy. But Bruce had never been so exhausted.

He looked back at the door, it had swung closed in the snowy wind but it hardly mattered. He'd be up here a while. Bruce had never really liked heights; but here he stood finding himself standing on the ledge looking out at the white-duveted city. Part of him felt reassured that the city couldn't sleep either; cars still on the roads, music still lingering in the distance, lights stretched out forever. Millions of people in a city, in one place, so many people that one man would never be missed. Would he be?

He shook his head, dislodging the notion of self-pity. It didn't matter anymore, he had a team. A team who needed the existence of what was slowly killing Bruce Banner. The Hulk was in the team, he thought, am I. As the years went by he became a shell, a housing for the Hulk. An alias, the man behind the muscle. Bruce hated the lack of control, it worried him. This precarious grip was forever in his mind, he hadn't relaxed in years. He hadn't lived for years. He looked back down at the city, his stomach swooping at the sheer drop. His toes flexing in his slippers, wondering how easy it would be – easier than falling to sleep.

''You going to do something stupid?'' Her voice was sarcastic and cold, it cut right through air. He jolted his head up, his stomach lurching at the sudden twitch, his self-preservation swearing loudly at him to get the fuck down.

He looked at her, for a moment he thought she was someone else, but the red curls meant it couldn't be. Despite her tone there was a look in her eyes, something he couldn't place. Her joints were all sharp, all ready to take action if needed. He wondered what she could have done if he'd stepped over, the same thoughts flickered helplessly in her brain.

His brain flickered back to the situation, it was awkward to say the least. He felt his cheeks and neck flare up with embarrassment. Natasha Romanoff was a mystery to him. He only knew what she had wanted him to know. He knew she was capable, that she was deadly. She had as much blood on her hands as he had- no, as the Hulk had. He was the Hulk. Natasha didn't like the Hulk. She feared him. And God, he didn't blame her, an angry monster using you as a rag doll will tend to do that. He'd lost his train of thought, merely standing there looking at her.

''Bruce,'' her voice was softer this time, still crisp and clear, '' are you going to do anything stupid?''

''I don't know-'' he looked back at the city. It looked smaller than before, louder too. He felt the wind against his back, it brought her words to him.

''Well until you figure it come back down here.''

He felt her exhale when he crouched, feet finding the ground. It crunched underneath him. He felt the chill through his pyjamas, but he wasn't ready to go in yet. Natasha finally let her guard down, her shoulders slumping her legs unwinding. He looked at her sheepishly; she too was in her sleepwear, a dressing gown pulled around herself protectively, and her hands now resting in the pockets. Her eyes flickered over him carefully, he felt the burn of her gaze.

''Are you alright?''

And what a loaded question to ask. He felt himself sway exhaustedly toward her, stopping at the entrance of an air duct. Carefully he dropped himself down, the stiffness and tiredness showing as he did so.

''I can't be in my head anymore,'' he sat on the floor, leaning against the cold vent.

She nodded because she understood entirely.

She sank into the spot next to him, her arm burned heat against his, he wondered how the weather didn't bother her. She just about reached his shoulder sat down, her head leaning back against the wall looking at the sky. Without make-up, there were defined hollows to her eyes, they sat prominent on her pal complexion, she looked so human. His eyes filtered to the dark sky still embarrassed, she looked as exhausted as he felt perhaps he wasn'[t as alone as he had thought.

''Why are you out here?'' He looked at her and she looked blankly back at him for a moment hot heat creeped back upon him.

''The snow reminds me of Russia.'' Her cheeks darkened ever so slightly. Natasha looked back at the sky, the slow white flakes falling on them. She yawned, arms resting on her knees.

''Nightmares?'' He asked, realising he gave himself away. Not that she wouldn't have got there of her own probing.

''Not always.'' She paused, biting her lip. When she looked at him he imagined an expectant expression on his face, it flickered. He wanted to hear more, he realised it was the only time he had asked her a personal question. He expected her to shut the door on his curiosity with a sarcastic comment, but her voice became higher, nostalgic. ''When I look at the snow like this- I think of when I was very small. Before all my life happened and got in the way. I imagine what it would've been like.''

She shook her head at herself, almost as if she thought human emotions were a weakness. He wished he could feel the full range of emotions like he used to, now there was numb and there was anger.

''Do you remember much?'' He knew he was probing, but he also knew that the Black Widow would either lie or walk away if she didn't want to disclose information.

''Practically nothing.'' She paused again, looking at him. Natasha sighed, forcing herself to continue. ''There were chickens, a man with red hair and ballet.''

He realised that she was trying. She was trying to be open but it was difficult, her eyebrows were furrowed as if in mild discomfort. He wasn't too far away from the mark.

''Not much to go on,'' he sympathised, wondering what it would be like to not remember your own childhood. For him he wondered if that would've been a good thing. If he had no memory then the Hulk would never have been born out of the anger and resentment he carried. But it didn't work that way. Those years defined who he became, they drove him to where he was. As had hers, but she had no clue what of her came from her, and what came from them. He felt a sadness for her he was sure she would resent him feeling.

''No, but I like to imagine a farm; warmth inside and snow outside. I imagine brothers and sisters, a mother and a father. I imagine family and what I'd be like now if I hadn't- if they hadn't-'' her voice broke off, her lips pouting into a frown. There was longing in her dream, so inaccessible it was itself a nightmare.

''I was thinking the same thing earlier.''

''You were?'' Her voice was small.

''What it would have been like if the accident hadn't happened. Where I'd be, what boring worries I'd have, if I would have had kids-'' he paused, stopping himself for wondering too hard, a pain was lodged in his chest. ''What it would be like to sleep without waking to green.''

''Red.'' Her eyes didn't waver from the white flakes falling.

''What?''

''I wake up to red.''

He felt himself make a small noise between a sob and a laugh. Finally he had found somebody who understood and she had been hidden down the hall all this time. He felt tears well in his eyes, he wasn't alone anymore and for now that's all that mattered.

Her head moved slightly, its heavy weight landing on his shoulder. He pulled away startled. She looked at him, her eyes directly into his. He saw the flecks of asymmetric gold in her pupils. It made her so much prettier. Not that he had never noticed, because obviously he had, he wasn't dead down there. Natasha finally looked at him with a certainty, she stood as his equal. For a moment he thought he may lean in and kiss her. The thought was crazy: she could castrate him before he even got close. But here so small and understanding he couldn't explain what she had done for him. He felt calm, the tremors in his body only for the cold, his eyes heavy because he _wanted_ to sleep. For a moment he fully believes that they could understand everything about each other, forgetting it was only one conversation between two desperate individuals. Was he so lonely he confused gratitude for mutual affection?

She broke the gaze, panicking he wondered if she could mind read. Natasha stood up offering a warm hand to Bruce, frowning again at his shaking hand, the way he wrapped an arm around his wet torso. He realised he was shaking like a leaf from the cold. The doctor part of him sighed about hypothermia and pneumonia. Natasha's hand was resting on his cheek, he leant into the burning warmth, still perplexed how she didn't mind the cold. Her eyes still raked over his face and he was almost convinced she only needed eye contact to read minds.

And then she did the unthinkable; Natasha tilted her head and brushed her lips against his.

''Thank you, Bruce. I think I can sleep now.'' She turned quickly, walking back down the stairs into the waiting dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_**So this is defiantly more light-hearted and, dare I say, humorous chapter than the previous one- I want serious and funny in my story so we're starting the fun here. Thank you for those already showing in an interest- I do rather enjoy getting emails saying people have liked what I'm doing.**_

The kiss sent Bruce into a frenzy.

His previously calmed body began to buzz with adrenaline again. He felt the muscles in his body twitch, but his brain was two minutes behind. Counting, yet again, he finally managed to make himself move.

''Tony!''

Bruce burst into the lab. Immediately going over to the back bench, where a startled Tony Stark had jumped up. A screwdriver hit the floor loudly, but Tony ignored it spinning the chair to face Bruce.

''I need to disclose something to you in total confidence.'' Bruce began his usual pacing, his entire body humming with energy.

''It always is, buddy.'' Tony leant back, knowing that whatever Bruce was going to say would take a while to articulate. He was never this frantic this early….this late?

He braced himself for the worst.

''She kissed me.'' Bruce went a strange mix of pink and white all at once.

The silence sat between them for a moment. Tony wondered if Bruce had finally had one bad dream too many. Or if he had blanked out something about a girl earlier in the week. But that didn't seem likely either, let's be honest, if Bruce went on a date Tony would know. If Bruce had even looked at a girl that way Tony would know. Tony would've known and teased and helped him pick out an outfit as Bruce behaved like a girl. But none of those things had transpired.

''Who kissed you?'' Logically, Tony thought, we narrow down the suspect we can figure out the confusion.

''Natasha.''

It was probably the only name that Bruce could've said that left Tony more confused than Bruce. Logic couldn't work on this. He did mean the black cat-suited, red haired murderbot? Not like a random never aforementioned Natasha who works at Starbucks?

''Are you sure?'' Tony picked up a mug of cold coffee, giving it a swig because, damn, he needed to focus.

''I- um yeah'' Bruce was still white, his eyes beseeching Tony to fix it.

''It wasn't in a lovely dream? We all have them about her-''

''No, Tony. She kissed me on the roof'' Bruce's voice was cracking slightly. He resumed the awkward pacing, the same foot prints on the same bit of poor carpet.

''And that's some form of slang for?'' Tony leant back in his chair smirking, in his head he was playing little scenarios with Natasha and Bruceesqe puppets. Bruce frowned at him, sometimes Tony wondered if he could see into his head. ''Okay, I got it I'm not funny. But- and don't take any offence here- why would she kiss you?''

Bruce blinked at him. A PHD and years in academia clearly had done nothing for thinking things out. Tony noticed what a mess Bruce was, his hair was flying madly. He was sodden and shivering. Sighing loudly, Tony got up forcing Bruce into the chair, grabbing a blanket Pepper stashed in the lab for impromptu naps, and he threw it over his friend. Moving his robot boot he sat on the bench facing Bruce. Alright, they were going to get to the bottom of this.

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Tony decided that because he was such a great friend, he had observe any discrepancies in Natasha and Bruce's interactions himself. Just in case his friend was confused about what kissing was or who Natasha was. (And partially because this kind of gossip was far too good to be true and so must be an elaborate hoax). And where better to start than Saturday morning breakfast, he actually made an effort to get up in the morning, Natasha's eyes narrowed suspiciously at him when he entered the kitchen before 9am. Likewise, as they wandered into the kitchen, Steve and Bruce's conversation faltered at the sign of the genius at the table.

''Tony.''

''Captain.'' He nodded back to the blonde innocently, leaning back in his chair.

''You're up early- or to bed late?''

''I was hoping for some patriotic pancakes- I'm sure big green and little red would appreciate some too.'' Tony looked toward the couple looking for agreement. They both remained silent, eyes sifting anxiously between themselves, Tony and Steve. Deciding that all his teammates were idiots Tony continued. ''I would cook but you know Pepper banned me from doing so after the curry incident-''

There was a collective grimace at the imagery that sprung up.

Steve paused a moment, a million things going through his head. Tony merely smiled at him. The captain opened all cupboards cautiously, looking for any trip wires or precariously balanced flour. He repeated his slow actions with the fridge, even going so far as to smell the milk. But there were no pranks. Even more alerted he looked back at the table, Tony still sat there grinning.

Tony drummed his fingers on the table flickering his eyes between Romanoff, who was furiously texting something angry to some poor unsuspecting sod, and Bruce who was looking right back at him for a moment. Bruce's eyes flickered ever so slightly to Natasha and his cheeks blushed. The man did have a brain after all.

Bruce offered drinks and slowly got to making them. Tony watched as he made a tea for Romanoff, making it with his coveted 'special' (disgusting) teabags. Tony watched him pass her the mug, neither really looking at the other. She said a word of thanks, put the mug on the table and resumed texting. Hmm, not enough proof. Banner boringly sat down with the paper, covering his face as if he knew exactly what Tony was doing. Which, actually, maybe he did.

Steve put the first pancakes on the table, still adorably confused. He turned to make more, between the super appetites there could never be too much food served. Tony helped himself immediately to the treat, trying to look as if his story of desperately wanting pancakes was the real reason he had got up, spy work was so difficult. Bruce gave Tony a wilting look before politely asking Natasha if she wanted one or two pancakes, placing them on a plate for her. It still wasn't enough, Bruce was disgustingly chivalrous like that. In fact, had Tony waited a minute, Bruce would've served him too.

''Morning all- Tony?-'' Clint walked in immediately looking at his watch as if it must be passed noon. Tony felt a muscle in his face twitch.

He plopped down next to Natasha, pulling a plate toward himself in anticipation. He began to eat messily, pulling the nearest sweet thing toward him. Tony resumed his eating, enjoying the fluffy, happy pancakes. It didn't take too long into eating in polite silence for Tony's to pick up potential signal.

''You alright?'' Clint leaned in carefully to his best friend. Tony tuned his ears into the small whisper, Clint was looking at Natasha, a forkful paused mid-shovel. Natasha blinked a few times before nodding. Aha! Tony thought, Clint noticed something was up. And his good friend Clint was very perceptive.

''Tony, what are you up to?'' It was Clint looking at him aggressively now.

''Nothing.''

''You have that look on your face.'' His good friend Clint was annoyingly perceptive.

''What happened to innocent until proven guilty?'' He forked more pancakes in his mouth angrily, throwing back caffeine. Once done he let he chair scrape loudly against the ground. With a dramatic flair he left the room.

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Bruce watched Tony leave; sighing when he left he finally put the paper down, moving it almost immediately to accommodate Steve who finally came back with more pancakes to sit down. The captain made a throw away comment about Tony and they all shrugged. Breakfast became less suspicious with the removal of their tower genius, but the air remained heavy. It wasn't until Bruce had left the room and was picking up his book form the coffee table, when he finally realised where the tension was.

''Nat, can I talk to you a minute?'' Clint's voice was upbeat and he strode easily toward the elevator. Natasha had already reached the button, she jabbed it for a second time. He swear he saw her roll her eyes.

''No.'' It was a flat out rejection, her lips pouting to a pink pucker. Bruce blushed and tried to not be there. He felt the air change around him, he didn't really want to be here if the fight broke out.

''Just one minute- about yesterday,'' Clint sighed as if he expected the reaction, his arms crossed across his chest, his eyes working million miles a second to evaluate her every twitch.

''No.''

The elevators door opened, she got in punching a button quickly. Clint moved into the elevator, his face set. As the doors began to close and Bruce figured he might escape the awkward interaction, he heard a swift shuffle and a groan. Natasha Romanoff had darted out the elevator as the doors closed. A serious of loud bangs could be heard deciding against the outside doors of the elevator, the noise breaking the empty silence.

''Sorry for disturbing you, Doctor Banner.'' It was polite and too formal for them. He gave a small quirked smile at her. Her eyebrows dropped, an ever so slight shift in her shoulders.

''He seemed serious, maybe you should-'' Bruce gestured toward the now quiet elevator with his book.

''No. '' It was that same resolute tone, but after a moment her expression softened again, ''see you later, Doctor Banner. ''

He fought watching her leave, she disappeared to the stairs, probably hoping to outrun the other assassin. He walked to the elevator, book in hand to recluse to his floor feeling oddly dismissed. He looked back as the door of the elevator shut.

This was the weirdest day. And it wasn't even lunch time yet. He wondered if he dreamt last night- had he thought about throwing himself from the tower and been kissed? He didn't think he dreamt it, maybe he had finally cracked.

He felt confusion flare up, dragging anger with it. Pushing it back down, he locked the door to his lab he had to figure this out. Pulling out a notebook and a pen, Bruce decided that the only way to deal with this was logically.

He immediately wrote down the events: nightmare, the roof, Natasha, the kiss, panic, breakfast, elevator, here. The words shed absolutely no light for him.

Thinking to the odd dynamics this morning, he tried to dissect the behaviour first. Okay so Bruce- well he was just understandably confused, trying to act himself. Maybe he was too close to evaluate himself.

Steve. Steve was an easy one too. He had seemed equally perplexed about everything going on. He and Bruce had talked about the very safe topics of aeroplane engines and Steve's early morning jog. Steve was acting totally normally until he saw Tony in the kitchen.

Sighing Bruce turned to the next culprit. He knew Tony. He understood Tony more than anyone else in this scenario. Tony was shocked to hear about the kiss- which meant that it (probably) wasn't a case of him having missed previous flirting signals between himself and Natasha. Tony also turned up at breakfast to evaluate the situation- was that curiosity to see if there was something there? Wait, was there something there? But Tony had also left the kitchen saying they were all boring, so clearly it was one fleeting kiss that he was reading too much into. He made a note to check up with Tony later once the billionaire had had his fill of dramatic brooding.

He realised with a sigh that he had to move to the next person. Maybe this as a waste. Maybe he was reading into something that wasn't even meant to be read into. It wouldn't exactly be the first time. Natasha was probably being friendly- she didn't care this morning. She didn't care? That seemed a bit mean, Natasha was always surprisingly thoughtful. She always carefully checked up on them all; whilst vehemently denying that she cared. She had borrowed some of his science books in the past, even some fictions he had laying around, always leaving a thank you note and her thoughts scribbled on a piece of paper when they were returned. He knew she had read up on Norse mythology too, making an attempt to memorise the twisted family tree so Thor could tell her stories. She and the captain went for jogs every other day together, they came into to the kitchen have a second breakfast afterwards.

Bruce paused. When had he started noticing her so much?

Today she had been quiet. He assumed Tony's presence made her awkward, but even when Tony had gone it felt weird. She and Clint seemed to be in some silent discussion she was denying.

And Clint was talking about yesterday. Bruce felt a spike of panicked paranoia hit him. Did he know about the kiss? Had Natasha told him? Now he was being silly, he told himself sternly, there were hours and hours of the day he and Natasha weren't kissing. Besides she and Clint were thick as thieves they always play fought over stupid little things, creating ridiculous challenges for each other but then could read each other's minds when on the same side.

To be honest Bruce was jealous of their friendship. They didn't really need words to communicate. Sometimes he thought about when she recruited him, and how he would have reacted if she had been able to say she needed him because some Asgardian god had taken her best friend. He smirked at the thought, no, the cards would never be that far from her chest. He knew that Natasha would cross the earth barefoot for Clint, and that he was equally as dedicated. A lodge stuck in his throat. Something between jealousy and sadness hit him. By his very nature he couldn't have that.

Bruce spent only a little longer obsessing over the situation at had before deciding to do some more research on that project for Tony. He took out the notes and immersed himself in the calculations. It wasn't until four hours later when a knock at the door broke his concentration.

He padded to the door in his slippers, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was greeted by an exuberant assassin.

''Clint?''

''Hey was wondering if you wanted to take a break and play monopoly with me and Nat?'' He smiled at Bruce.

''Oh, well I-'' sometimes he hated his brain for not thinking fast enough. All he had was 'I don't want to'.

''Just Phil told us we're only allowed to play with a chaperone-'' his voice was the perfect inflection of an upset child.

''Sounds stressful, maybe I'm not the best-'' he was cut off again.

''Natasha will behave if you're there. '' Bruce paused, there was a sweet smile on Clint's lips, and Bruce was almost sure he knew. ''Please?''


	3. Chapter 3

''You don't get to be the car!'' Clint looked exactly like the petulant child he sounded like.

''Yes I do.'' And Natasha, by the sounds of it, was no better.

''Nick never lets me be the car!''

''Maybe you should've called it sooner- you were too slow. Racecars can't be slow-''

''You know I like palindromes!''

That was it, Bruce looked up from the rulebook exasperated. It couldn't have even been more than five minutes since he was dragged up here. He had been warned by a suspiciously spry text from Steve that it was imperative he knew the rules back to front. Any waiting to reread the rules could, apparently, be disastrous. The fact that this was text to him worried Bruce. He wasn't entirely sure he was cut out for this, his patience felt worn thin already.

Natasha leaned over the table, her fists clenched. He had ever seen her look so approachable, her hair was half up, the rest messily falling out of the bun. She was comfortable; sweats and smug teasing expression on. He tried not to look at her, worried about arousal of emotion she had conflicted him with last night. Not that she seemed to notice.

''Nobody gets to be the racecar.'' Bruce took off his glasses pinching his nose. ''Clint, what would you like to be?''

Clint grunted, shooting a glare at Natasha who innocently acted like her leg hadn't just darted out to hit him in the stomach. She grinned at the sound of his pain for a moment, before carefully placing an innocent expression back on her face. Bruce felt his lip twitch in a small smirk. Whatever Clint and Natasha had been fighting over earlier clearly was over. He wondered what it was like to have someone so close in your life. He wondered what it was like to have a Clint or a Natasha. The jealousy subsided as she looked at him, winking as if he was a part of the antics. It felt nice to be part of the antics again.

Before Clint had a chance to respond, Tony walked in, scotch glass already in hand, his tablet in the other. Tony had decided to shirk off his bad mood in order to find his usual science brother in crime. Bruce knew he had come to bring him the results from the new efficiency ratings for the tower. The two of them were meant to go over the stats this evening, but, instead, Tony casually placed the tablet on the table sinking to the seat between Bruce and Clint.

''Cool, we playing monopoly? I'm the iron!'' Tony grabbed the piece, setting it on the 'Go' easily, leaning back. As he did so he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked at the screen a moment, eyebrows furrowing. ''Why has Captain Popsicle just sent me a warning?''

Clint and Natasha looked at each other, before comically looking back and shrugging together. Bruce looked around, wondering how the Captain even knew Tony had joined them. Clint and Natasha finally decided on their pieces (Clint was the dog and Natasha the top hat), leaving Bruce placing the shoe on the board.

The game was increasingly violent and passive aggressive. Bruce was exhausted. The once family friendly game would come up in any future therapist sessions Bruce thought he may have. Bruce wasn't really sure how the game was supposed to end, but he was pretty confident that the arduous experience certainly wasn't meant to come to an abrupt halt at a petitioned protest to remove another player.

''It's not fair, Tony already won reality's own monopoly.'' Natasha waved a signed napkin on which was scrawled 'Votes for Leadlegs to go back to his cave'. Her name was signed under, so was Clint's. He happily would have signed, but he hadn't, because Tony had given him the look. So, Bruce had remained mediator, though he was in debt with fake money to a fake bank.

''Aren't you glad it's not a fluke?'' Tony smirked, fanning himself with blue paper bills.

''No.'' Clint pouted, standing up. Bruce momentarily forgot it was a game, (on the other hand maybe he was the only one who knew it was in fact a game), and worried for his friend. Instead, Clint walked away, disappearing to the kitchen for a moment, coming back with beers. He tossed Natasha one, offering the second to Bruce in the more traditional extend of a hand. Bruce took the cool bottle, twisting off the top easily. Clint made a point of looking at Tony before placing the third beer on the mantle on the other side of the room, opening his own smugly.

Before anything could be said, and it was annoying because Tony had a really good bird pun he wanted to use, the elevator opened and a slightly stumbling Sam walked out. Being in the business they were, they all sprang instantly to seriousness. Tony and Clint grabbing Sam under each arm and bringing him to the sofa. Bruce rolled up his sleeves ready to deal with injury. It didn't matter though he worked out his diagnosis at the same moment he heard the timely voice of the Captain.

''He's alright, well, he's drunk but he's alright.'' Steve walked into the room, clearly he was expecting the visit.

Sam groaned, throwing his head back against the soft back of the sofa.

''Why are you drinking alone?'' Tony was already walking toward the bar, pulling out glasses and placing them on the counter.

''I wasn't alone, I was drinking with a lady.'' Sam made another groaning noise, speaking through his fingers.

''You're meant to get her drunk and go home with her.'' Clint smirked at Tony's 'duh' voice.

''She dumped me.'' He sighed, pushing his hand against this face. The Captain was putting a gentle hand on Sam's arm, Bruce supposed it was meant to be comforting. Natasha was still curled up on the sofa, not having moved since they settled for the game. Clint was stood with his back against the wall, watching the scene, but still a part of it. Bruce wondered if he could make a subtle exit, he wasn't sure he could handle drunken avengers and monopoly in one night. If only someone had warned him about this week, he would've taken up yoga or something.

Tony got there first. Stupid mind reader.

''Hey Banner, get the glasses.'' Tony was already turned back to the bar, pulling out an expensive bottle of vodka. Bruce sighed collecting the tray and following Tony. The Playboy padded back to the coffee table, letting Natasha look at the label and with her nod of approval he poured a generous amount from each of them. Clint and Natasha took theirs immediately, taking a sip after clinking the glasses together. Bruce really wanted to leave. But the billionaire had pushed a glass in his hand, practically forcing him to stay because he was too socially inept to think of an excuse to leave.

The Captain looked at Tony with an impressive look of exasperation, only speaking up as the philanthropist passed Sam a glass.

''I don't think alcohol is the best solution here,'' he was sounding reasonable, Bruce silently agreed.

''You don't? Well, I do.'' Tony shrugged nonchalantly, letting himself sink into a chair opposite to the Falcon, sipping his own vodka.

The Captain sighed audibly, moving to look at his friend. There was look on his face that suggested a question. In answer, Sam raised his glass taking a sip, echoing Tony's casual shrug with one of his own.

''See, he's all for it, Cap!''

The conversation aimed to keep itself light. They recapped the highlights of the monopoly game for Sam and the Captain, who in return expressed a congratulations for the lack of necessary hospitalisations. Once again, Bruce wondered what the hell he had missed in the past. Tony talked at them for a while, seeing to the next round of vodka to be poured and carefully sipped.

Sam was swaying by now, he had stopped drinking somewhere in the last twenty minutes, just cradling the glass in his sweaty palms. The Captain kept a good eye on him, offering a steadying arm at one point. He looked at his best friend's glum face.

''You'll be alright, man. Everyone here has had a tragic vigilante love affair- at least I'm assuming? Look at Captain Virgin over here-'', Tony had followed the Captain's glance. He looked around comically, nobody nodded, because nobody wanted to admit it. It was true though.

''So what, superheroes don't get the girl? Thought that's why we did this?'' Clint immediately responded, challenging to keep the tension light. Tony stared at him with intrigue. A little bit of information had clearly slipped from the marksman. Clint shrugged, leaning against the wall. Bruce looked at him, he saw Clint and Natasha exchange a quick glance. He knew an entire conversation had just happened between them. His stomach suddenly lurched and he didn't know why.

''Our jobs are complicated, we can't expect anybody to share that.'' the Captain had resolutely not drank from the glass of Vodka Tony had provided, even though it wasn't going to make a dent in him anyway.

It was Clint who made a snorting noise, using a second to pause before he looked directly at Sam.

''There are other girls out there, girls you can protect!'' Clint leant back again, using his wall for protection, swigging his drink.

''Maybe from the outside world. But, do you honestly believe you can protect her from you?'' The Captain managed to sober the mood in a crippling moment. Bruce felt his own mind flicker to a dark haired beauty, almost destroying her. It then flickered to red, instantly he looked at her pale face, but she was watching her best friend. His stomach did the thing again. Clint twitched toward the Captain; something between pity and heartbreak on his face. The smile had disappeared.

''When you love somebody but you know you're going to inevitably break them-'' Tony's voice was low. They all turned to look at him, the same expression of uneasiness of inability to console because there wasn't anything left to say. The truth was cold and it stung. Bruce felt his arms wrap around himself unsure how such depression had come from a game of monopoly. Tony shrugged, he raised his glass and they all swallowed their respective spirits in unison.

Tony poured another round of drinks, the alcohol landing mainly on the table, the paper money sticking to the glass. Bruce saw his best friend swallow his replenished drink instantly, a dark expression settling on his handsome features.

''That's not the worst bit-'' Bruce, for all things considered was still sat thinking, the small amount of alcohol buzzing in his brain. He didn't really mean to be muttering his own depressing thoughts. He felt the eyes of the Avengers on him, but the vodka spoke for him. He saw Betty for a long moment behind his closed eyelids. Her gentle smile and the news that she had moved on. ''Wait until you see her with someone else- and not the guy she'll bring to the next party to make you jealous, but _the_ guy. When they find the one. When they give them that look they never gave you, and you are happy for them, but it's killing you.''

He paused to take a heavy gulp, grimacing at the burn.

''Its watching them have a life after you. And you realise that you couldn't make them happy like that.''

Everybody stopped looking at Bruce evenly, for a moment they were all speechless, Bruce felt the pink rise in his cheeks knowing he had said too much. Hell, at least he wasn't the only one who had. But after a beat the entire Avenger team held their glasses up to him, downing the liquid in bitter solidarity.

''Never being able to say goodbye. To say you hope they have a good life.'' The Captain's voice was soft. He nodded toward Bruce, Bruce gave a small smile.

Bruce put his glass down, the churning of his stomach was already making him feel uncomfortable. Thoughts of Betty were coming back to his head, the ones he pushed away with the old ache he felt whenever he thought about her. About how she was happy without him. And it surprised him that the jealousy he felt wasn't a longing for her…it was for happiness.

Deciding that air would be good he slipped out the stuffy party easily, moving to the balcony where the cold snow and air hit him again. As of last night his entire world felt lopsided, he wasn't even really sure what he wanted but he could hazard a guess that it was something, anything, less melancholy than _this._

He thought about his loneliness. Sometimes, he liked to think about the fears and the consequences of the other guy, to reaffirm that his romantic celibacy was for the best. But this wasn't that. The kiss, as innocent and no-strings as it may have been, had opened up this feeling he thought he had entirely shut down.

His thoughts were paused, however, when he heard the doors slide one. The hub of chatter and clinking glasses of the others calling it a night pervaded the air for a moment, before the sound was trapped once again by the cold glass. He didn't bother turning around, he knew who it had to be. It was too silent an invasion. The silence she carried around her was loud.

Natasha leant on the balcony, looking out into the city with him. Different night, different observation point, same skyline. Bruce felt his hands shaking on the railing, he gripped harder to hide it.

He thought back to the conversation they just had. From what he could remember she hadn't said a word, she didn't react other than to drink along and to give those looks to Clint. The warmth of the vodka rose in his throat again, curling in his stomach. He wondered what those looks were. Were they sympathy; a hidden story between two friends? He certainly was passionate enough, or at least he seemed to have some emotional investment in needing love. But Bruce couldn't help but worry that the looks meant something more. He needed to know, his brain was pushing at him to know.

''You've never felt loves cool sting?'' He tried to be casual but his tipsy self was awkward and uncool. It made her breathe out a chuckle anyhow. She knew he was asking about her lack of input.

''Love is for children.'' She stared ahead, sighing at the rehearsed thought. Keeping the rest to herself.

Of course, children and she only got to share the bad things. Children lost things, children broke things, children made promises they couldn't keep. She had been a child once. She kept her mouth closed. Not wanting the swaying feeling of calm he gave her to make her divulge her thoughts. But she'd never tell him that.

''It makes a fool of everybody.'' He shrugged at her, leaning against the balcony railing looking out into the city.

''Only fools-'' she began but he managed to catch her.

''I'm a fool?''

She didn't answer his question straight away.

''You're too eager to love. You want to be loved too much.'' She pushed her hair behind her ear, looking out into the sky.

Bruce thought for a moment, brushing of the cool insult. He thought of his weaknesses, love had always been the biggest. She was astute because she understood how men worked, and nearly all men needed to feel loved. He also knew that sometime love kept you human; he had seen those with no love, the shells of who they were. It's not a fate he would encourage either. Natasha didn't seem the kind to slip into such easy hatred, she was carried by love even if she denied it. He thought of her denying the very thing that kept her bound to her team, to shield, to the avengers, to Clint. He wondered for a moment how it must be to fear the thing that saved you, and then, he realised, he didn't have to wonder that at all.

''You don't want to be loved. But maybe you should realise you are loved, and there's nothing you can do about it.'' He said it evenly, forcing himself to look straight ahead. She stared at him, for a moment he was worried if he had crossed a line, he ever was good at knowing when to reign it in. after a moment her shoulders dropped, another exhale of amused breath. He raised an eyebrow at her, enjoying the raised eyebrow she gave him in return. She shrugged pushing herself off the balcony, her arm warmly brushing his as she did so. Idly he wondered how she was always so warm.

''Maybe-'' she pouted, her red lips smirking almost. She looked at him for a moment, a sad expression crossing her face for the smallest of seconds. He watched her turn back to the door, closing it behind her. He realised she was always leaving before he had a chance to understand his footing with her.


End file.
